Newsies In Jail
by RunawayBurleigh
Summary: Betrayal, lies, murder... indecent exposure. Sound like something our beloved boys would do? Maybe. Who did what, and are they all innocent? Modern day. Complete.
1. David

DISCLAIMER: (This goes for the whole story, so listen carefully). I don't own Newsies. I never pretend to. Actually, I own barely any of the characters in this. Firefly own's Kaitlin/Firefly, Riley owns London/Riley. The list goes on. And on. So, don't sue me or anything.

**Chapter One- David**

A loud, short buzz and the whooshing of doors startled me as I stared down the solemn hall. After what seemed like forever, I was finally going to see my best friend, Jack Kelly. I was slightly worried, not even wanting to be there. But I had to. Well, not had to. It was obviously a choice, when you thought about it logically. But I wanted Jack to state his case. I wanted to forgive Jack for everything he did, all of the lies, all of the betrayal. I wanted to try. 

Greenwall Prison wasn't a state penitentiary; it wasn't the big time. Still, it's not like Jack was in for petty theft or anything. Dang it, two weeks wasn't as long as I thought. Maybe it was too soon. Mom had already forbid me to go around with Jack; she said he was bad news. And I never believed her, not for an instant. Guess what they said was right: always listen to your mother. Don't get me wrong, I usually do. But Jack... Jack was different. He was my best friend, no matter what. And I had to give him a chance to explain himself. I may have still been angry with him, but I had to be fair. It was terrible getting out of the house; Mom was still suspicious, tailing my every movement in and out of the house. Even went to so far as to buy me a cell phone so she could keep tabs on me. That's saying a lot since we don't make much money. Dad still doesn't say a lot to me. Guess that's what I get for befriending a felon.

A prison guard led me to a stale, cold room where prisoners could receive visitors. A few were already there, dressed in ridiculous orange jumpsuits, talking to whimpering girlfriends who were too young to be hanging around a prison. I sat in the wooden chair in front of an empty table. The tabletop was cold, gray formica and made me shiver when I rested my arms on it. They led him out in handcuffs. It was hard to believe. My best friend, in a prison with handcuffs locked around his wrists. The light brown hair he always kept so tidy was too long for him and flopped in his eyes. His face looked sallow but angry, and when he saw me, he winced. Jack winced? It was all too surreal; this had to be a dream. 

It wasn't, obviously.

They took the cuffs off of him, and he plopped down in the seat across from me. His expression had been hardened, and he almost seemed angry. He didn't deserve to be angry. I was the one who was fooled. I should feel mad, white-hot anger searing across my forehead. But I wasn't. I sat tall and calm, waiting for him to apologize. Or talk. Or do _something_. Jack just sat there, silent, for quite a few minutes. Finally, he spoke.

"Hey, Dave," he mumbled, his voice rumbling and dry, like gravel. "You see the news?" I nodded. Everyone had heard the news. 

"So how's the new guy, then?" I asked. Shrugging, he cleared his throat.

"Dunno. They got him in max security, man. Heard he flips out all the time. Just totally spazes on everyone. Nobody can control him. Surprised he didn't go to state." The state penitentiary. That's where the murder suspect would go when he was convicted, I bet. I didn't know the guy, but he was around my age. Well, four years older than me, but in the same generation. Hearing about that made my mother even more nervous about letting me out of the house. It was crazy. I wondered if Jack knew who he was. I mean, I didn't really _know_ anything about him anymore, now did I? Jack saw the look on my face. He averted his eyes, thinking, I suppose, of a different topic.

"So, uh... catch any fireflies lately?" He asked tentatively. I cracked a smile. It was one of our inside jokes, the first one. It reminded me of the day we first met.

"Nah," I replied. "But I wish I had."

---  
A good friend of mine, Kaitlin, called me up one day. "Do you wanna go catch a movie? I met this new boy, and he's really nice. I wanted to do something with him." I raised an eyebrow, knowing she couldn't see it through the phone.

"If you met a new guy, and you're taking him to the movies, why do you want me tagging along?" She laughed. I could hear her smile through the phone. Her light blue eyes always smiled along with her. 

"Besides, I thought you were working on a new story. You seemed so excited about it yesterday."

"The story can wait. And I don't like him like _that_; he's just a friend. I met him at-"

"Oh wait! Let me guess!" I broke in. "The candy store, right? Is he the leader of the pack?" I sang the last four words in a terrible, sugar-coated, high-pitched voice. 

"Shut up! No! I met him at the barn. Janelle told me about him. He's a new stable hand. Comes from New York, she says." Kaitlin always loved horses. That and writing. 

"So how old is this guy?" I asked, still convinced that she had a new romantic interest. We'd been down this road before; she was always falling for guys who were too old for her. Not to mention they never seemed right. She had what some called a "good Christian heart", and she was always befriending the weirdest of people. Normally she was shy around people she barely knew, but some just seemed to charm the quiet right out of her. I wasn't one of those people. It took nearly a year for us to really become friends. 

"Nineteen," she mumbled quickly. 

"Firefly! He's three years older than you!" I exclaimed. Sometimes she didn't have the best sense. Her nickname had been "Firefly" ever since she was tiny. I never had a nickname besides "Davey" or "Dave", the former being a name that I despised deeply. I rarely called her by that name, but her family always affectionately referred to her as "Firefly".

"So what? Are you trying to get out of it? 'Cause I can go by myself," she offered. I rolled my eyes and started pacing around the kitchen. She would go alone, too. And you never knew about the kind of guys she would take under her wing. One time she "made friends" with a guy literally two minutes before he robbed her blind. It's not that Kaitlin was all that naïve; it was just that with some people she couldn't see the possibility of being mean. Or hurtful. Or criminals. My sister, Sarah, appeared in the doorway, tapping her foot.

"I need to use the phone, David," she called to me, loud enough so that Kaitlin could hear through the phone. I nodded and turned my back to her.

"You're changing the subject. Anyway, I'll go. What time?"

---  
The movie sucked. But the walk home was the greatest. We walked through the park, talking. Jack didn't seem like a bad guy; in fact, he was pretty nice. He and I connected at once. I don't know what it was, but at any rate, all three of us were having a great time. "So you like horses, too?" I asked him. "Kaitlin said you two met at the barn." Jack gave a half-shrug. Already, I knew his type. The "I'm smarter and cooler than you, so I'm gonna be as laid back as possible, making you do all the work" type. At any rate, he was still a nice guy.

"Yeah, they're cool," he replied. We were all silent for a few moments, and Jack seemed to be thinking about something important. I was proven wrong, but it was fun anyway. He turned to me, grinning over Kaitlin's head. 

"You like chasing fireflies?" He asked pointedly, nodding his head at Kaitlin. She must have told him the nickname. I smiled.

"Yeah, I love chasing fireflies. I especially love... tickling them!" I cried, reaching down for Kaitlin's stomach, her most vulnerable spot. She shrieked and ran away as we chased after her, laughing. 

Not the greatest story, I know. But it was fun at the time. Jack and I have been best friends ever since, and it's a year later. Kaitlin recounts that story all the time, taking credit for our "best friend-ship", as she calls it.

---  
"Dave?" Jack asked sharply. He must have asked me a question. I snapped out of my memories. 

"Yeah?" I replied. His brows furrowed. 

"I asked if you'd seen London around lately." London was Jack's girlfriend. We called her "Riley" every now and then. It was another one of those silly nicknames. She, too, had been fooled and hurt by Jack. He never saw the consequences until now. Any warmth I felt towards Jack a minute ago evaporated. 

"No," I said shortly. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, defeated.

"What do you want from me, Dave?" He asked, exasperated. I stared at him.

"If you don't know, then I have no business being here." Yep, he just blew me off. Didn't even care whether I forgave him or not. He didn't care about anyone but him. I stood up. He banged his fist down on the table.

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay, Dave? I'm sorry! But you don't understand! You don't understand what happened! You don't know what's really going on!" He yelled. The guards started to move towards our table. I glared at him.

"Well, maybe if you would have told me what was going on, I could understand!" I said, not matching his volume, but the meaning was all the same. He lowered his eyes to the ground.

"You know what? I couldn't make you understand. 'Cause I don't understand, myself," he said quietly. The guards had reached our area by now, and they threw him back into his handcuffs and led him away. I was left just standing there, watching him leave.

---  
Of course I saw London. Are you kidding me? She's one of the first people I went to after I watched them haul him into that car. Yeah, I was there when he was arrested. It was a mighty shocker for me, too. But it was especially bad for London. 

Jack Kelly and London Gray had been going together for a little over five months. She's a great girl, very nice and funny and outgoing. The day after Jack was arrested, I went over to London's house. She opened the door to me, and although we weren't great friends, she wrapped me into a hug when she saw me, visibly upset. I felt really bad for her because she really did care about Jack. 

"Riley, I..." She shushed me. 

"Don't even say anything. He fooled you, too," she said, playing with her deep brown hair. She had the brightest blue eyes that made her look like she was always happy. I looked at her as she moved aside to let me in. 

"How are you holding up?" I asked softly. I could see the anger and pain in her eyes. She lowered her head a little and sighed.

"I just hate what he did. I hate it. I mean, it's not like we were together long, but... it still feels like it was really just me he betrayed. I know it's selfish; I mean, he hurt you, too. I just can't help it." 

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's fine to feel this way." Shaking her head, she folded her arms across her chest. 

"So, you find out who he really is?" She asked. I was surprised, but then I remembered that his one phone call went to my cell phone, not hers.

"Not really. Told me his real name was 'Francis Sullivan', but I don't believe it." She smiled faintly.

"'Francis' suits him," she commented quietly. It was rare that she was so quiet. I was used to London being a rather outspoken person. "I know what you mean; it's hard to believe anything he says now." 

I paused before asking, "Do you think you're gonna forgive him?" Anger flared in her eyes. 

"I don't know. He's done such idiotic things. Beyond idiotic to just downright mean. I don't even know who he is anymore. I guess I never did." I pondered this and slowly nodded.

---  
A/N: Alright, so what do y'all think? :-) 


	2. Snitch

**Chapter Two- Snitch**

All right, so I've made a few mistakes. This isn't any exception. Makes me feel like an idiot, though. Like I belong on some "Dumb Criminals" show or something. How could I be so stupid? I mean, I've heard of guys not being smooth, but this... this was terrible. I guess I wasn't thinking too clearly. Well, I don't guess so, I know so. I was desperate, okay? I needed the cash like crazy. That's what you get for gambling with the mafia. Or something close to it. Cheap little Italian kid. He really screwed me over. My bunkmate laughed at me when I told the kid why I was in. He laughed at me. The idiot's too scared to move in here, but he laughs at me for being in prison? A real scrawny kid, too. I could take him. Heck, anyone could. 

---  
The chains clanked as they brought me down the hall and threw me into a cell. It was damp and dry, with a set of bunk beds with mattresses about as thick as saltines and a smell that could make a nursing home smell like Glow by JLo. There was another guy in there, I'd say about eighteen, maybe nineteen. It was mid-afternoon, so I could see him fairly well. Asian, slim, medium height, happy. Happy? Man, I've never heard of a cheerful kid in jail. Excuse me, "Prison" or "Correctional Institute". Whatever. I brushed myself off and stood, shivering slightly, even though those orange jumpsuits will keep you warm in anything, I'll tell you. I'm just not used to the "big house". I'm no criminal. I'm innocent. I was framed.

I'm joking.

Hey, at least I admit to... ninety percent of my crimes when I'm accused. In my mind, at least. To those big badges over there, breathing down my neck? Nothing. They don't get anything because they don't deserve it. I'm not all bad, you know. They think I am, though. And what did I do to them? So this is the first time I'm caught. First time in prison, after twenty-four years of crime? Not bad, I'd say. And after some of the stuff I've pulled off, I'd say I'm pretty good at this. Well, I'll say twenty-two years. I can't remember much of the first two years of my life; it was too long ago. At any rate, the kid spits in his hand and offers it to me. Like I'm really gonna touch that. "Swifty," he said. At least, I think so. I couldn't really decipher it because he was talking too quickly. Like one of those cartoon chipmunks or something. Swifty? What is "Swifty"? I don't respond. He just stands there, waiting for me to do something, so I shoot him a look. 

"What are talking about?" I asked incredulously. The grin that was planted on his face is erased in about two seconds. That's what I like to see. I've still got it. The ability to create fear. His deep brown eyes glanced down at the floor, and then up at me again.

"It's my name. Well, not my real name. I'm really Lucas, but everyone here calls me Swifty." It took me about three minutes to figure out what the kid just said. I raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Uh, I'm fast." I decided not to comment on that. As soon as he realized what he just said, his eyebrows shot up, too. "No, not like that!" He laughed, his eyes crinkling. This kid was entirely way too cheerful to be a criminal. He must have been wrongly accused. I know the type; this couldn't be someone who's committed a felony. "I run fast, I drive fast... I do everything fast." Including talking. His speed increases as he keeps talking. Maybe he's got ADHD.

Nah, I knew a kid with ADHD. It wasn't fun, for him or me. Not to mention his teachers. Just 'cause I'm a common criminal doesn't mean that I don't know anything. I made it through high school all right. I nod to Swifty. "You been here long?" I asked. He shook his head. 

"'Bout a week. Just long enough for everyone to give me a nickname. We should think one up for you. What'd you say your name was?" Whoa, slow down there. I realized that I had to have had the stupidest look on my face, so I quickly changed my expression while I try to figure out what he just said.

"I didn't." He waited in anticipation. I decided just to leave him hanging. Serves him right, right? Nosy little kid.

"So... what _is_ your name?" He asks a few seconds later. I can't help but grin, but I decide to let the guy off easy. 

"Nate." I offered my hand. We shook, an exchange of pleasantries, even in prison. "And, speaking of nicknames, you can call me Snitch."

---  
Snitch. An old nickname one of my buddies called me in high school. The name was granted because of my tendency to have what they call "sticky fingers". More than just sticky, though, I'd say. During my junior year I not only stole countless car radios, but I also took the entire high school PA system. The idiot, also known as the school principal, had the easiest lock in the world. One of those cheap duds you can buy in a dollar store or something. And I was on the announcements team. You know, those people that announce what everyone's having for lunch that day. Man, no one wanted to voluntarily do "good things for the school", so it was my punishment for grabbing a few graphing calculators from the geometry room. And that was rookie stuff, gags I pulled seven years ago. 

But I really messed up this time. I've never been this sloppy. Even when I was four and I lifted that lighter from the Sheetz on Fourth Street. I was smoother then than I was this time. Crazy. Absolutely crazy.

---  
"So, uh... what are you in for, Swifty?" I asked an hour later. I was already bored out of my mind, trying to find a way to grab a pack of cigarettes off of the guard. I usually take non-filtered, but whatever I can get will work. There was a brief pause. 

"Stealing cars." I was surprised, but not shocked. It's not like he was in for murder or anything. Murder. I knew a guy who'd be hauled in for murder sooner or later.

"Really? I figured you'd be a petty theft kinda guy." He laughed slightly.

"No, I hot-wired a nice Porsche... before I crashed into another kid. He's in here, too." He had to be joking.

"Let me get this straight... you stole a car, but you crashed into another guy, and now you're both in jail?" I laughed. This was one of the funniest things I'd ever heard.

"I told you I like to do everything fast, and that includes driving. It was a long night, and I was going well over 100. So I just closed my eyes for a second. I blinked, but the blink lasted too long. Before I knew it, I was going head-on towards this guy in a Chevy." I knew it had to be some sort of accident. I'm not the only one in for a stupid mistake. "What about you?"

---  
Wal-mart's a big empire, you know? They make lots of money. Tons of it. Sam Walton, he's rolling in it. So how's he gonna miss a couple thousand? Okay, so I was an idiot about it, though. I mean, I didn't realize they'd have so many security cameras. So I go in with my handgun, unregistered, of course. I watch CSI enough. But the blue-badges show up in no time. I tried to split, but it didn't work out. Indicted for armed robbery and assault. 

But I was desperate, man. You think I'd do something that stupid if I didn't really need the cash? I never got paid off from that other shrimp, and I had to pay up sometime. I'm a genius, though. A freaking genius. I'm in here for armed robbery, yeah. A stupid mistake. But compared to the idiot in here for murder? I'm the smartest guy in the world.

---  
Thanks to Braids/Spotlover421, mushs-grl13, Zippy (again :-)), and Hot Shot RyoM for reviewing! :-)  
And for those wondering exactly what Jack did... you'll just have to wait and find out. 


	3. Racetrack

**Chapter Three- Racetrack**

I hate this place. I mean, it's not like prison's all that exciting for everyone else, either. But I really hate this place. "Greenwall Prison". And no, the walls aren't green. So the name makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. I wouldn't even be in here if Rain hadn't ratted me out. Like she wasn't in on it. Her and that deformed little son of a gun she cheated on me with.

Hey, at least I have two eyes. The idiot's my cellmate. Can you believe that? So you expect me to be all nice to the kid? Heck no. No way. I don't know what he's in for, and I really don't give a crap. He should be in here for what I'm in for. He really screwed me over big time. He and my girlfriend. So I had to give him a piece of my mind. Nearly got myself in solitary for that, but it was worth it. It was so worth it.

---  
I used to have a cell all to myself. Not a big accomplishment, but it's better than sharing. We take what we can get. The food sucks, the air sucks, the big orange jumpsuits suck. But having a cell of your own, now that's what we call "the high life". As high as you can get in a place like this. They brought him in cuffed, as usual, even though there aren't too many murderers in here. That's not to say that we all wouldn't like to kill someone from time to time. I saw the blond hair and eye patch and I froze. That couldn't be him, could it?

Of course it was.

As soon as they threw him in here, I was on top of him, punching his lights out. At first, his crystal blue eye stared at me in shock until he realized who it was. I smiled to myself, glad to be winning for once. He would get his penance. But then he rolled me and punched me straight in the eye. Got a nice shiner from that one. I rolled him over again and quickly stood, bleeding. Running towards him, I slammed him up against the wall and knocked his head against it, the back of his skull slowly leaking blood. 

"You lousy, dirty little thief," I growled, holding him to the wall by his jumpsuit.

"Like you're any better," he spat at me. "Just 'cause you couldn't give Rain what she wanted." I threw him to the ground. He didn't know. He didn't understand. The idiot just wanted to screw my girlfriend and get money. I trusted the rat. Still lying on the ground, he swung his body around so his legs knocked into mine and I fell over.

"Whoa, Racetrack!" Jack Kelly called from the cell across from mine, hanging on the bars. "What's up with you and this new dude?" My enemy punched me in the chest repeatedly.

"Oh, so you don't use your real name here, Tony?" He said in a low voice through clenched teeth. "Don't want everyone to know that Anthony Higgins is a dirty thief?" I was losing strength, the ability to breathe deprived from me.

"Stay outta this, Jack!" I called, restrained. Everything was beginning to go fuzzy. "And I'm not the thief!" With that, I threw him off of me and started punching his jaw, his stomach, his head, with the last ounce of energy I had. By that time, the lazy guard had finally noticed that a fight had broken out and had come to apprehend us. Well, me, since I was the one who was caught doing the bad stuff. Again.

---  
Melanie was my girlfriend. It wasn't serious or anything, but she was no one-night stand. We met in Atlantic City, in the casinos. I've been gambling since before I could read, whether it was legal or not. She was funny, smart, and gorgeous. It only made sense that we hooked up. I was hard for cash, though, having one of the worst weeks ever. "We need a plan," I told her in the hotel room. We always were traveling to different towns, running through money in the casinos. "I gotta get some more cash, and soon." Thinking, she kissed my neck and wrapped her arms around me. 

"I know," she said suddenly. "I talked to this guy, Arlo, and he knows how we can get loaded." I pondered this.

"Arlo? What kind of name is that?" She stared at me for a moment and shrugged. "His parents were nostalgic. It's from the 'old country', wherever his old country happens to be." I nodded.

"So what's his plan?"

"Well, here's how it works..." She explained the entire pyramid scheme to me. It seemed like a great way to get rich quick. The guys at the bottom would gamble their pants off and never make it to the top. We'd collect all the money. Split three ways. I resisted when she told me about that, but she said we'd make so much that I wouldn't need to worry about splitting it. So I contacted the guy, Arlo Hayner, and set up a meeting. He was a tall guy with blond hair and an eye patch, dressed casually in jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt. We ate in a restaurant, and he explained everything in further detail. We just had to give a five hundred each and we were in. Who could resist?

---  
Things went great for awhile. Made a crapload of money. I got my pals, Ariana, Kristen and her "companion", Ben, Tal, her boyfriend, Charles, who was better known as "Snoddy", and Tal's twin brother, Davis. The twins were only eighteen, and they took the bait right away. Kristen was underage, but it's not like we cared. She had another year yet, but she reeled in some high school kids for us. Normally I don't deal with kids, a bunch of hormone-driven bulls, but Kristen, who was also known as "Magpie", went to a private school where nearly everyone was loaded. I couldn't turn down the prospect of more money.

Davis was really good at making sure the money rolled in. Ben, who took on the nickname of "Falcon", took care of the money affairs, with Rain watching over his shoulder. We were getting richer by the minute. It was huge, with nearly two thousand "investors", who were all still down at the bottom of that pyramid. Ariana, who we called "Strider", and Rain could reel those investors in with one wink. 

I wasn't worried about anything. I was rich, happy, and ruled over everyone. Or so I thought. One day I walked up to Rain and I's hotel room after collecting more cash from Davis, who had to threaten everything to this kid Lucas because he wouldn't get us the money. It sounded like Rain was in the room, so I opened the door, ready to take her out to dinner. And then I saw her and Arlo in bed together. I couldn't believe it. I almost had a heart attack.  
"WHAT is going on here?" The loud, angry sound of my voice caused Rain and Arlo to look up. She was shocked, but acted cool. Ever so cool. 

"Sorry, baby," she said smoothly.

"You're cheating on me, and all you can say is, 'sorry, baby'?" I was enraged, a vein popping out of my neck. I jumped on the bed, trying to give Arlo just what he deserved, but he had me in a headlock before I could even throw the first punch. While Arlo gave me the beating of my life, Rain told me that she had called the police and reported me for starting and running an illegal gambling ring.

---  
It's not like I had the money for bail, since the two of them took off with everything. The police wouldn't believe that they were in on it, too, since Rain played the innocent little victim over the phone. I've been waiting for trial for three months. Rain never came to visit me. 

---  
Thanks to TigerTess for reviewing. (I didn't mean to make it sound like the lodging house, but that's an interesting parallel :-)) 


	4. Snipeshooter

**Chapter Four- Snipeshooter**

Tough luck for me to get caught four days after my eighteenth birthday. I mean, I would've been charged as an adult anyway, but still. It would've been okay if it had just been cigars. It's an offense, but the cops don't really care that much about who's importing Cuban cigars and who isn't. But then I had to start working with Shaun. Shaun, who I called Graft, was a major drug lord, and I don't even know how I got mixed up with him. He went to college, but we met and became friends. Slowly I got involved with his affairs, and he with mine. 

---  
"Hey, Nate," Shaun said in the car, lighting a hit. "You feel like goin' to a party tonight?" I looked at him and shrugged.

"Dude, you're smoking the wrong kind of thing," I told him. I had my black backpack with me, as always, and I pulled a nice one out of the front pocket. "This here, it's the life." I had been addicted to Cuban cigars since I was around eight or nine, first learning about them by grabbing one of my dad's and giving it a try. There are far worse things a kid can get into these days, and it was just a cigar. 

"Man, you can't get stoned off a cigar," he said, hitting me on the head. "You gotta get some shit; it's good for the soul. Like speed. Dude, it's awesome, you know it." 

Shrugging, I said, "I hate needles, Graft, you know it." I grabbed a half-smoked cigar out of my pocket and lit it with his lighter. 

"We're dropping acid at the party. Ronnie's got a whole freakin' load of it. And John's gonna open a meth lab. He's got all the equipment and crap like that. It's freakin' awesome." He took another drag. "So are you coming or what?" I stared at my cigar, suddenly conscious of how it made me feel. It was like I was rich or on top of the world, smoking a fine cigar in one of those maroon silky bathrobes. Instead, I was some seventeen-year-old kid in an old beat up Volkswagen with his stoner friend. 

"Hey, Snipes, where are you, man?" I looked up at Graft, surprised that he was still there. "You coming?" I put my fantasies away, focusing on the matter at hand.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

---  
And so starts my journey into the real world. It wasn't very long, though, only a few weeks. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but getting my next fix. The drugs were awesome, though, I can't deny it. But you know, I got raided and all, so now I'm stuck in here. Okay, I went to detox first, but that's just a formality. In here I can get anything I want. And I want some angel dust.

---  
At the party, I had the time of my life. I mean, you hear about guys having a bad first time, but I never did. Except for that stupid homegrown crap Ronnie tried to pull off as acid. But that's another story. There were tons of people there, man. This kid that looked like a pirate, trying to get us to join some freakin' pyramid scheme, and then there was this other guy who acted like he was on top of the world. 

But there are a lot of guys like that around. I won't just dwell on one, will I? Maybe.

"Hey, Snipes, dude, you gotta try this," Graft said. After all that crap I'd learned about peer pressure, I still took it. Let this be a lesson to all those little kids out there, man. 

The acid was great, and after a few bottles of beer, everything started to mix together. I couldn't remember a thing. Well, almost. 

---  
"So you're the new kid," a tall guy with light brown hair greeted. He held out his hand. "I'm Jack." Greenwall Prison. My "punishment", where drugs are even more readily available than on the streets. The cell was tiny and musty, and my bunkmate looked like a pretty harmless guy. I shook his hand. 

"Nate. But you should call me Snipeshooter," I replied. He snorted.

"What's with the nickname?" He asked, smirking. It's not a funny nickname, is it?

"Cigars. Cuban cigars." That's all that had to be said on that matter. But still Jack looked confused.

"That's what you're in for?" He asked incredulously, looking me up in down. "I would've thought something different." I raised an eyebrow.

"Like what?" He shrugged.

"I dunno, I dunno." After pacing for a few moments, he finally caught on. "Wait, you can't just be in here for that. Not in prison. What else is there?" I smiled. Now we were getting somewhere. 

"Possession and dealing," I said. 

"Cigars?" He asked, confused. I laughed.

"No, man," I replied. "Drugs! Angel dust, speed, coke, meth! You ever heard of them?" I slouched against the wall in my orange jumpsuit, back against the bars and facing the inside of the cell, grinning.

"GET ME OUT OF THIS FREAKIN' PLACE!" A voice yelled from somewhere behind me. Man, I jumped like twelve feet in the air. "I DON'T BELONG HERE! I'M NOT SOME COMMON CRIMINAL! GET ME OUT OF HERE NOW!" Several crashes could be heard down the hallway.

"What the..." I trailed off as Jack started laughing hysterically.

"You should've seen your face!" He called over the continued yelling. 

"Who is that?" I nearly screamed.   
"Some kid," he shouted back. "Got in here a few months ago and says he's innocent." I rolled my eyes. 

"Yeah, I'm innocent, too," I yelled. "Just like Bill Clinton!" 

"Yeah, well, he freaks out a few times a day. Think he'd learn by now, but he never does." It sounded like a chair was being thrown around in that room. The guards were screaming at the guy to settle down, but it took a full ten minutes for him to calm back down. 

"So what are you in for?" I asked Jack a few minutes after the yelling had ceased. He looked at me.

"I ain't telling you yet," he said. "Just wait 'till you get to know me first."

---  
So I'm stuck in jail. With a few secrets of my own. Too bad I can't afford bail.

---  
A/N: Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun for reviewing :-).   
And for all of you people who actually _know_ about drugs, in my defense, the only experience I've ever had with drugs is by reading _Go Ask Alice_, so deal with it. 


	5. Jack

**Chapter Five-Jack**

Dave's mad at me. Firefly's mad at me. Riley's mad at me. Noticing a pattern? I really screwed up big time. I mean, really. 'Cause I cared about those guys, you know? But it's all gone now. I'm not a nutcase, though; I just... needed cash. And I wanted to be somebody else for once. 'Cause Francis Sullivan's life sucks. But Jack Kelly, now he's a cool guy. Then I get hauled in after a reunion with some old "friends".

---  
Bud's Tavern was in a dark part of town, a place Dave never went to because his parents never let him. Not to mention the kid was underage, but so was I, and Bud didn't care. Dave and I were going to meet up with Dominic and his girl, Charlotte, for a few drinks and maybe some pool. It was a classic bar scene, the air hazy from cigarette smoke, beefy men mourning over lost lovers. I'd stopped into Bud's when I first got into town, and I'd been coming back ever since. 

"Heya Bumlets," I called over the constant buzz of the jukebox. "And who's this lovely lady?" A tan girl with straightened brown hair had materialized behind my friend. Bumlets turned around and kissed her on the cheek.

"This is Charlotte," he introduced, grinning. Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"Call me Holiday," she said to me. I smiled and extended my hand. 

"Jack," I replied. "And this here is Dave, he's my buddy." Dave grinned and shook their hands.

"So let's get down to it, boys," Bumlets said, calling for more beer from the waitress. Why anyone would want to work in a place like this, I'll never know.

"'Scuse me?" Holiday asked, raising an eyebrow. "I do believe I'm a girl, here." Bumlets turned to her.

"You sure?" She laughed and punched him in the arm.

"So what would that make you, Bumlets?" Dave questioned, laughing. Bumlets turned red and changed the subject quickly. A ding of the bells hanging on the front door alerted Bud to a new customer coming in. I didn't turn to see who it was; Bumlets was busy drilling me about Riley. Suddenly, I was tapped on the shoulder.

"Frankie? Is that Frankie?" I froze for a second before turning around slowly. My worst nightmare was waiting for me behind my back.

"Oh, look! It's our pal Frankie, Morris!" Oscar Delancey said, an evil grin on his lips. Morris Delancey grinned, his bulbous nose spreading more across his face.

"So how ya been, Frankie?" Morris asked. I couldn't play stupid. They knew exactly who I was. 

"Get away from me, you lousy twit," I growled. Oscar smiled and laughed raucously. 

"Oh, I don't think so," he said. "Murderers get no mercy." I looked quickly at David and he was shocked. 

"Who are these people, Jack?" He asked. "What are they talking about?" Morris turned to David. 

"Oh, Jack? Is that what they're callin' you now, Francis? Too scared to use your real name?" He said to me. "Your pal 'Jack' here is really Frankie Sullivan. He's-" Morris couldn't finish his sentence, as I had punched him straight in the jaw. He took me down on the rebound, though, and I rolled him over and socked him in the eye.

"He's a murderer," Oscar told David, Bumlets, and Holiday, smiling maliciously. "Killed his own mother then escaped from jail." I was livid. Oscar would get his, too. 

---  
But then Bud interrupted our "reunion" by calling the cops. The Delancey brothers got off on a technicality, and I was arrested for vandalism to property, reckless endangerment, and identity theft. They were the ones with the freakin' knives. I used my "one phone call" to call Dave's cell. He hung up on me. I can't blame him, though. He just doesn't understand what really happened. 

---  
I really was Francis Sullivan. I grew up with my mother and father in Northern New York for a good part of my life. When I was fourteen, my father was arrested for spousal and child abuse. For most of my life, my mother and I lived in fear of him, until she finally got up the courage to tell the authorities. From that point forward, we lived a relatively happy life without him: crisp apple pies in fall and going to the beach in the summer, just the two of us. But then we got news that dad escaped from prison. And again, we lived in constant fear, panic, and worry. I was eighteen years old and suddenly he was back into my life. I felt like I was fourteen again, avoiding any contact from my "father".

---  
"I'm back, Louise," a harsh, angry voice whispered in the darkness of the bedroom. "I'm back to make you sorry. Sorry you were ever born, ever bore my child, ever told those lies about me." My mother awoke with a start. I was moving about in the hallway, getting a glass of water. When I heard that voice, though, I froze. I knew he was back. How could he get back into the house? He didn't have a key; he couldn't know where we were living... could he? I snuck towards the doorway of my mother's room, trying to keep as quiet as possible.

"No," she said, barely making any noise. "It can't be..." He smiled maniacally, his eyes lighting up with a feral tone. 

"Oh, but it is. You'll be sorry you ever messed with me."

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't..." I could see him moving in the darkness. The gleam of a knife, the whiteness of his teeth. Why didn't I move? Why couldn't I just save her?

But it was too late.

She was gone. My beautiful mother, who had protected me and loved me for my entire life, enough to put her life in danger for me, was dead. Stabbed in the stomach and neck, the moonlight shining on her through the window. I ran towards him- too little, too late. "Get away from her!" I screamed, and he turned to face me.

"Oh, look. It's Francis. Well, it's too late now, son. She's gone. Poor little Francis couldn't save his mommy," he said. I tried to charge him, to get revenge, and we struggled for a moment, my hand grasping the knife. But he was gone. He left as swiftly and quietly as he had came. Except he killed my mother in the meantime. The phone. The phone. I ran towards it, knocking over an end table and a lamp in the process. _What was the number? What was the freaking number? Oh my God, my mother is dead._

"Nine-one-one, state your emergency," a distant, tired voice greeted. It was so quiet, like the person on the other end was really far away from the phone. 

"It's my mom," I cried. "She's dead, she's dead." 

---  
The only evidence found was my fingerprints on the knife. Anything I said was useless; everything pointed towards me. My father wore gloves and shaved his head, determined to leave the scene scot-free. And he did. I was arrested for a murder I didn't commit. I couldn't even spend a month in that prison, and I was gone. Like father, like son, I escaped from prison. I was innocent, so why should I be the one punished? I skipped town for a few months, living under various names. 

Until I came to meet Kaitlin and David. They gave me a town to call home and their friendship, and I used a name off of a credit card I found at a rest stop in Pennsylvania. Jack Kelly. Seemed like an inconspicuous name, and I needed the cash. I met London and started going out with her. Everything seemed so stable, so safe. I was in the clear, still a guy with a past, but nobody had to know about it.

---  
Thanks to whoever reviewed. I really appreciate it. I just don't have access to the internet as I'm typing this. 


	6. Swifty

**Chapter Six- Swifty**

So I'm in prison. It's not a big deal; actually, I kind of like it here. When I told that to my bunkmate, Snitch, he looked at me like I was nuts. The truth is, I'd rather be in prison, where they give you a meal and don't beat you up too badly, than out in the "real world", living in fear and starvation. Sure, you're bound to get a few black eyes and bruised ribs when you first come in, I mean, it's only natural, but once you're here awhile, it's like everything's okay. The food tastes like cardboard at first, but you get used to it.

Don't get me wrong; prison isn't exactly the place I wanted to end up. But I'm only in for a couple of months, and it isn't all that bad here. I didn't even mean to get arrested. It's just one of those things that happened. I'm taking this all in as a learning experience.

---  
They don't call me "Swifty" for nothin'. I'm the kind of guy who does everything fast. I talk fast, drive fast, think fast. Sometimes I think so fast I can't keep up with myself and I trip all over my words and everything; it's crazy, really crazy. See? I'm doing it now, and I didn't even mean to, you know, it just happens. But anyway, that's kind of why I'm here. 

I stole a car. I've been doing it since I was twelve, so it's not that big of a deal. The thing is that I got caught. It was a really nice car, too, so I wanted to see what she could do. Unfortunately, I just couldn't wait until I got out of town. Well, it's not that I was that impatient, I just couldn't, you know?

So I drove it, speeding almost as fast as I could. I didn't even look down at the speedometer. It feels great, I mean, you just gotta love losing control like that. Makes me feel free. But anyway, I ended up crashing into this guy who already lost an eye. He was drunk, but I still got brought into jail because I stole the car. I guess he was a big partier, because he got arrested, too. DUI. He didn't even have a license anymore. 

Man, my girlfriend was super-pissed. Taffee was going crazy when I called her from "the big house". She was my one phone call, but I had the feeling that I made the wrong choice with that. But who else could I call?

"Hey, this is Skyler. I can't reach my phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you!"

"Taffee, uhh... it's me. Please pick up. I ne-" A beeping cut me off.

"Swifty, baby, where are you?" She asked hurriedly. 

"...mmm... you're not gonna like this," I replied slowly.

"Just spit it out! What's wrong?!" She was getting impatient.

"I'm-I'm calling from Greenwall," I said quickly, getting the worst over with.

"WHAT? How did you get in prison?"

"Uh... I kinda..."

"Don't tell me you stole another car," she interrupted. I didn't answer right away. "Lucas! I cannot believe this! Well, you deserved to get caught." Like a mother, she only used my real name when she was angry with me.

"You know I had to," I mumbled into the receiver, embarrassed. The guard was watching me, a strange look on his face. He could hear Taffee through the phone, and he was three feet away from me. She sighed.

"Listen, I know things are rough right now," she said quietly. "But you can't just steal a car and start speeding every time something goes wrong." I remained silent for a few moments, and so did she, letting her words sink in.

"I know, I just..." I took a deep breath. "I had to get away. But... I'm scared." My voice sounded so small, so incapable. How could I let myself get into this much trouble? The guard smirked at me. I turned to face the opposite wall. I closed my eyes and envisioned Taffee, sitting in her bedroom, running her fingers through her brown and red-streaked hair. 

"Okay, I know," she told me, her voice gentler now. "I don't have any money. And mom won't lend me any."

"Can you ask your brother?" I pleaded. "Please?"

"I can try. How much do you need?"

---  
Of course I was scared. I'm only eighteen. And although I've been stealing cars for a long time, it's not like I'm some hardened drug-addict-criminal or anything. Ugh, drugs. I hate them. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. That's probably what got me into stealing cars and everything in the first place. Actually, I know it is.

Jesse was a scary guy. So how could I not do everything he asked me to? Not only that, he was really intimidating. He was also my older brother. "Okay, little bro, you're gonna go in there and grab that nice yellow Ford for me, okay?" The type and color of the car always changed, but the dialogue was always the same. And I always obeyed. Jesse would take the car from me as soon as I delivered it to him and sell it for some easy money. He always needed money.

Until I told the authorities about what he was up to. Then he needed money all right. Bail money, that is. 

For almost as long as I can remember, my big brother has been a drug dealer. Coke, mainly, although he has set up some speed connections when he really needed the cash. But then Jesse got out of jail about a week ago. And he knew I reported him. 

"Listen here you little punk," he growled through clenched teeth, slamming me up against the wall. "You thought you'd get me out of your life, didn't you? Huh? Well that's too bad. 'Cause I'm back. And you're gonna pay for what you did to me." 

"City, don't do this," I said, on the verge of choking. He banged my head against the wall again, his anger reinforced.

"Don't. Call. Me. City. I will never be 'City' to you again, you got that?" I nodded meekly, and he let me go, throwing me down onto the floor of my bedroom before stalking out of the room, his big burly body swaggering. I had to get out of there. He was going to kill me. I ran to Taffee's house. Her mother answered the door, surprised to see me. 

"Hello, Lucas," she said. "I'll get Skyler for you." She disappeared down the hallway, and a moment later, Taffee came out. Her face grew concerned when she saw me. 

"Swifty, what's wrong?" She asked after hugging me briefly. I didn't respond for a moment, still trying to catch my breath. "Swifty, tell me. What's the matter?"

"He- he's back." She was confused.

"Who? Who's back?" I gulped.

"Jesse. My brother." 

"What? No, I thought he was in prison!" Her mother, who was listening in on our conversation because I was so upset, raised her eyebrows. I ignored her.

"Yeah, well... he got out a week ago. Parole," I replied. "Taffee, he's gonna kill me." Taffee knew about City and how I'd ratted to the cops on him. I avoided her eyes and brushed past her. 

"I- I gotta go. I have to get out of here." She stepped towards me.

"Swifty, no. No, it's okay, you can stay here, right Mom?" Her mother didn't know what to do. Let the brother of a convicted drug dealer stay in her house? She nodded, although somewhat reluctantly.

"No, I have to." I looked into Taffee's eyes. "You don't understand how dangerous he is. I have to get out of here. Now. As soon-as soon as possible, now, I can't wait!" I was tripping over my words again. I ran out of her house as fast as I could. To the place I knew. To the car dealership just down the street, where I'd stolen cars from for years.

---  
I can't help but like it here in Greenwall. It gives me protection. Protection from my brother. And even though I wrecked into some kid and ended up with a record, it's still okay. It'll always be okay.

---  
Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun for reviewing! :-) 


	7. Kid Blink

**Chapter Seven- Kid Blink**

Okay, I was only given a _warning_ for indecent exposure. I was drunk, and it was a dare from a fellow fraternity brother. No, I couldn't just let that dare go, could I? But man, it was the same cop. Same bald, fat, donut-eating guy who gave me that warning. And he remembered me. Oh, did he remember.

Guess that's my luck. Like being stuck with Mister "You stole my girlfriend" as a cellmate. Rough deal, I'm tellin' ya. 

What really sucks is that I can't even remember that night. I was at the party, you know, where that girl was killed. Murdered. Whatever. And then the cops came, and I split. I remember running to the Chevy and getting in. That's it. The next thing I know, I crash into some kid, and I'm arrested for DUI. No, they don't normally take you in. But I didn't even have my license. Yeah, that minor detail. Apparently, after you get so many points on your record, they just take your right to drive away. Or "privilege". At least I'm not in for running an illegal gambling ring.

My profs are gonna laugh at me. Yeah, it's not like they really care whether you're in jail or not. I meant to stay in college, but I know I'm done after this semester. My family pretended to have high hopes for me. I'm a smart guy; I just don't care. College really isn't about the formal education, anyway. It's about the drinking, going to Vagas and Atlantic City, partying. Meeting some fly girls. Like Rain. And Zip. Man, that girl's crazy.

Now she's hooked up with Brad. They call him "Skittery". Voice major. Didn't even know they had that around here. Obviously the fact that he's here and not in some flighty art school is that he sucks. Erin, which is Zip's "real" name, was just a fling. Right?

I met her through my buddy, Josh, and his girlfriend, Sofie. Josh is like a best friend. We grew up together and now we go to the same college. 

---  
"Hey Blink," Mush called to me from across the room where he was seated with Evenstar. "I got this girl lined up for you tonight." I turned from the entertainment center, taking a break from grappling with the X-Box. The Lord of the Rings game we rented wasn't working in it. 

"Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow. "You tell her I have two eyes or just one?" Mush grinned.

"C'mon, man. Her name's Zip, and she's hot." Evenstar fake-pouted at this. 

"Better looking than me?" She asked. I laughed.

"Nice one, Mush. Talk about another girl, who you describe as 'hot', in front of your girlfriend. Real smart." Mush didn't pay attention. He was focused on Evenstar. 

"Sof, you know you're the prettiest girl I ever met. This Zip girl doesn't compare." He put on one of his classic "I'm being honest" looks, and she smiled. 

"Okay, okay..." He grinned and kissed her on the cheek. I shook my head. Mush can pull anything off. He's a master BSer, and no one knows how bad he is. 

"So she's really hot, huh?" I asked. He froze, unsure of how to answer the question. Laughing, I let him off the hook and continued, "Alright. So where're we going tonight?" Evenstar grinned.

"Don Pablo's. It's freakin' awesome food," she replied. My buddy got a giddy grin on his face. He loves Don Pablo's more than his car. And that's saying a lot. I laughed and continued to work on my system.

---  
That night was crazy. We had an awesome time. Took a walk in the streets, in the courtyard of the English building, and what seemed like everywhere else. And she didn't care that I only had one eye.

Too many people look at me weirdly for my eye. In this day and age, you'd think nobody would care. But that's all wrong. Whoever says people are more accepting needs to shove it. Because I know the looks they give me. People still think the same way; they just don't voice it, is all. They have ever since I was a little kid. Birth complications. Apparently I was defected, and the eye socket and all never really formed correctly. It's not hideous under there anymore, just a smooth scar from when they tried to operate. Add on a funny name like "Arlo", and you've got a real lonely kid.

I think I have a complex from people looking at me. Could I sue? Every single person who's looked at me weird, or not talked to me because I only have one eye? Nah, no lawyer would want to look at me. I hate it, though. It's a big thing for me, you know, if a girl can look at me and still wants to be with me. 

So anyway.

I called her for days afterwards. I couldn't get her off of my mind. It was terrible, 'cause she never returned any of my calls. Then I decide to go to Vagas for a while. Take a break from everything. Too bad I didn't have enough money for the plane ticket. So I figure, Atlantic City. Yeah, it's shorter, and I can earn some freakin' good money. Maybe meet a girl there. Or someone who'll help me put my plan into action.

It was great. My plan, I mean. I got loaded and met a hot girl. Just the thing I needed so I could forget. You just reel everyone in, get them to give you money and promise they'll get some, too. By the time you collect, you're outta there with their cash in your pocket. Awesome. It worked, too. That girl, you know, Rain. She was so great, but she had this idiot tagging along with her. So I got her to cheat on him. Devised a plan to get the money and the girl. And the idiot left in jail. 

---  
"Man, Jack, you gotta cigarette? I need somethin'," I said to Jack, who was in the cell across from me. Then I noticed this other kid in there with him. "What, new kid in here?" I nodded towards the other guy. He was young. Eighteen, nineteen, maybe? Jack nodded and tossed a cigarette and a match over. I caught it easily.

"Yeah, this here's Snipes. Came in for drug usage or something like that." The kid was very cool- smooth and relaxed. Not what I'd expect for a young kid like him. He waved over then went back to whatever he was doing. Jack tilted his head towards him.

"Weird one, he is," he said. "Doesn't talk much or anything." He shrugged. "But he's not bad." I looked at Snipes for a moment. Did he look familiar? I could've sworn I saw him somewhere, but I just couldn't figure out where. The kid was weird. 

"Man, your friend looks like he's hiding something." Jack looked over but shrugged.

"Maybe he's trying to hide his acid or something. Like it really matters." I shook my head slowly.

"I don't think it's that, man..."

---  
By the time I got back from Atlantic City, I was so loaded. I wanted to do something awesome, and I knew that throwing a party would be the greatest. So I did. My buddy Grafter hooked us up with some sweet connections, and although I'm not into weed and all, a lot of my friends are. So I knew it was gonna be a huge party.

It was awesome. Mush handled the bar, drinking about as much as his "customers" were, Evenstar by his side. I think I outdrank him by one in the morning, though. I think. Like I said, this part is real hazy. I know that I saw her. Zippy. She was there with Skittery, and I turned around and told Mush to top me off because I needed something pretty darn heavy to shake off the memory of her. After that, I can't recall a thing. 

All I remember is something happening. Something bad and the cops came. I guess that would be when that chick was murdered. And then... I drove. Hopped into my Chevy and took off, scared witless. Then I crashed into that kid. That's all I remember.

But they don't really care about my eye in here.

---  
Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun and Zippy for reviewing! :-)


	8. Bryan Denton

**Chapter Eight- Bryan Denton**

When I volunteered to become a court-appointed defense lawyer, I wanted to make such a difference in the world. The view hasn't really changed, but after a few years, I've learned that I can't always change everything. I really do care about the people I represent. And if they're innocent, and I believe they're innocent, I do whatever I can to prove that the justice system still works in this country. 

I just hope I can this time.

---  
I'm heading up the most famous case in the tri-county area. Apparently, the kid hasn't got a lawyer. Believable, though, considering he's in college. I heard he was quite a character from Wiesel, the officer who booked him. Of course, I had to visit him in jail. Hear his side of the story.

Tom Conlon grudgingly came out to see me in an orange jumpsuit. He looked rough, like most of the guys here, but there was something different about him. Anger flared in his eyes, but sadness did, too. Already I'd had false conceptions of him.

"So you're the lawyer," he commented. I could feel him resisting me from the start. As a lawyer, you have to learn to work as a team with the client. I had a feeling that this would be a bit of a struggle. I nodded and stood, offering my hand.

"My name is Bryan Denton," I said. "I'll be representing you." He returned the handshake and took a seat, lazily watching me with cold blue eyes. Untrusting. I leaned forward and moved my chair in. "Before we get started, I need to know the truth." He looked into my eyes. Fiery ice, a conflict of the elements.

"About what?" I lowered my voice so that no one else could hear us.

"Did you kill Anne McGeary?" 

---  
Another thing that makes this kid so tough to represent is that he already has a bad reputation at Greenwall. He'd never been in for anything else, but once he got there, he started to soil his record before you could say "flibbertigibbet". I talked to Wiesel about him, and there weren't very many good things the man could say.

"The kid freaks out any time you talk to him," Archie Wiesel said, looking up from his paper and stuffing some Doritos in his mouth. He continued to talk with his mouth full. "He's been in solitary three times in the past two days. I tell 'em they should just leave him in there." I looked at him. 

"What do you mean, 'freaks out'?" He coughed for a moment, brackish and loud, and then he turned back to me. 

"I _mean_, he just... freaks out. The kid starts screaming an' throwin' chairs all over the place. He's nuts." I shook my head. This was going to be a tough one. You can always be safe in saying it's going to be a rough job when you can't even get along with your client.

"So he already looks bad?" I asked. Wiesel nodded. I sighed and smiled at him.

"Thanks, Wiesel. I think." He grinned back. "Oh yeah, the kids still calling you 'weasel'?" He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, that's the thanks I get for getting them into juvenile detention instead of prison." I laughed and waved as I walked off. I had a lot of thinking to do before I came in contact with Mr. Conlon.

---  
Tom Conlon, of course, lived up to his reputation.

"Are you kidding me? Of course not! I didn't kill anyone, you lousy-" He stood and shouted in my face, and I just took it. It's so much easier to be calm than to fight fire with fire.

"Okay, Tom," I responded quietly, trying to stay calm.

"My own freakin' lawyer doesn't believe me! I don't belong in here, and the system sucks! I'm screwed, then, is that what you're saying?" He yelled, and the guards started making a move towards him. The kid needed me.

"No, Tom. I'm trying to keep you off of Death Row!" I replied, my voice growing a shade louder. "But you have to cooperate. If you didn't kill anyone, how can I prove it?" He froze and just glared at me for a moment. I shot a look at the guards, and they paused for a moment. Sighing, he returned to his seat across from me. "Listen to me. I have to convince a jury and a judge that you are innocent. The way you're acting is not helping the situation. You have to promise me, for your sake, that you will stop this behavior. Otherwise, the district attorney could have you convicted based solely on your actions. He's a true crook, and he'd be able to do it, too." His eyebrow raised and he stared at me for a moment.

"Okay. I'll stop. But you believe me, right? You know I didn't do it?" I looked at him. It didn't matter what I really thought. I just had to convince him that I believed he was innocent.

"Of course I do." I nodded to emphasize it. My briefcase was on the floor, so I opened it and brought out some papers. "Now, do you know of anything that we could use in your defense?"

"I don't know, man... oh wait. Yeah, I do." I looked at him in anticipation, although I didn't think there would really be anything. All of the evidence pointed towards him. The knife, the situation, the testimony of his character. "There's this kid. He saw it. He knows I'm innocent." 

"A witness?" He nodded. "A witness could change everything, Tom. He could set you free. Now who is it?"

---  
Tom Conlon. A murderer? It's possible. But actually, after I saw the look in his eyes, I believe him. I believe he's innocent. 

---  
*Flibbertigibbet: _n._ A flighty, chattering person. [It's a real word! I swear!]

Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun and Zippy for reviewing! :-) 


	9. Patrick Snyder

**Chapter Nine- Patrick Snyder**

Some say I'm a vicious man, evil even. That I do what I want and I rule over the courts. That I have a vendetta against youngsters in this town and I'll do anything to keep them behind bars.

I say I'm just resourceful.

And I have an intuition about these things. Thomas Conlon is as guilty as sin. Just like that kid who stole the car. He deserves to spend some time in jail after that atrocious act. Anyone who steals a car should. Because mine was a new Thunderbird. Perfect condition. Then some kid hot-wires it. It was probably that kid, too.

I know how the murder of Anne McGeary happened. Get some lousy college kids, beer, and knives together, and you know it spells danger. Especially this young man, who was known around town for roughhousing. Harsh and angry, with a terrible temper. All of the evidence points toward him. Fingerprints on the knife. I heard the two were arguing that night. Then it became ugly.

---  
Thomas Conlon and Anne McGeary rushed out of the crowded house, escaping the stench of liquor and arguing. It was clear by the way they stumbled over the gravel that they were both intoxicated, well above the legal limit. 

"You know what? FINE! I don't give a damn!" Tom screamed, his face red. "Go and be with Alex, and just forget it! Because I don't care. I don't care about you." Anne stamped her foot. 

"Well, maybe if you would pay some attention to me, I wouldn't have to flirt with other guys!" He threw his hands up in the air. 

"I pay plenty of attention to you. And it's not about me, it's about you being unfaithful. I can't believe this, Anne." By that time, a few others had stumbled out of the house to see what was happening. They looked on, most with unfocused glances. Isobelle O'Halloran tried to intervene. She knew about Tom's temper.

"Tom, don't be stupid," she said cautiously, but he shoved her out of the way.

"Stay out of this, Isobelle. This is between me and Anne." The argument grew more intense, and Tom ran a hand over the knife in his pocket. She screamed in his face, and the others watched, with a feeling that Tom was wrong. He always overreacted. 

"I cannot believe that you don't trust me!" Anne yelled. "What about you, huh?"

"What about me?" He sneered.

"You, you have a terrible reputation. If anyone would be cheating in this relationship, it would be you!" Tom's hands curled themselves into fists and he shook with rage. The blade that was so well-known had finally made its appearance when he flung it out of his pocket, vibrating with his hand and glinting in the cool moonlight. Anne stepped back, half-surprised and still completely furious. 

"I. Do. Not. Cheat." The words came out curtly, filled with a cold anger and hatred. She was scared, but wasn't going to cower under him.

"Yeah, right," she spat out, her words equally cold. Tom could no longer hold back. Blood rushed through his brain and he could feel it pulsing, the momentum continuing but the sound fading; everything was liquid and he could feel a body crush up against his and then another, the blade sticking into Anne and her falling. And she lay on the ground, slain against his rage. A small pool of blood began to form around her body. Anne McGeary was dead. And Thomas Conlon killed her.

---  
I knocked on the door of Judge E.A. Monahan, my friend and a good "resource". I waited patiently, staring at the grain of the wood and the plastic sign affixed to his door.

"Come in." His gruff voice answered the knock sharply. Upon my opening the door, he sat back in his chair and said, "Snyder." I nodded.

"Edward, how are you?" He observed me briefly and motioned for me to sit down. "I've come regarding a case." He thought for a moment and nodded.

"The McGeary murder case." 

"Yes. I have the file here." I brought out the folder with information. The crime scene investigators would have to testify. Wiesel would, too. I set it on his desk in front of me and folded my hands on it. "You need to make sure you get this case. Anything. The evidence is pretty hard against him, but he's got Denton as a defense attorney. Plus, even though there's good evidence against him, there's not much." He stared at me with milky blue eyes.

"And why is it so important that I get this case?" 

"Because it's mine. And I need to win it. The media's all over this, and the kid looks bad already. If I lose a case against some punk who beats everyone up anyway, my reputation takes a hit. I could afford it, but I don't want to. And you know that one hit can screw everything up for a person who's in the public eye." I raised an eyebrow. He knew what I was talking about. 

A close family friend of Judge Edward Monahan had threatened to put an accusation of child abuse put against him. The friend stated that he had put a belt to his son constantly. The allegations were true. If he would have gone public, Edward's reputation would have been done. For good. He raised his eyebrows and nodded briefly.

"All right. I'll arrange it."

---  
The prosecution case was flawless. Especially now that I had Edward on my side. I would win this case, and that little brat would go on death row.

---  
Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun, The Omniscient Bookseller, and Zippy for reviewing! It means a lot to me.


	10. Spot Conlon

**Chapter Ten- Spot Conlon**

I cannot believe this. How could I be in here when Eire is gone? My girlfriend is dead and I'm awaiting trial for her murder. Obviously, I'm not even invited to the funeral. I hate the way this is working out. I don't belong in some stupid prison cell. I'm innocent, and nobody will believe me. 

I just wish Eire were here.

---  
Anne McGeary. I met her on campus about six months ago. She's just a freshman, but she's pretty and looked nice enough. It doesn't seem like it, but I'm careful about who I date. Not because I'm some selective guy who thinks he's better than everyone else, but because I don't want things to go too wrong too fast. It's just a precaution. I can't help it.

So anyway, she was heading from her general English course, and I was running out of my chem. lab. The freakin' professor ran late and then I'd be late for my next class.

"She is going down," I muttered under my breath, half-running and trying to throw my book into my messenger. It was the third time that week. Dr. Mambo would shoot me. Well, she's a real little lady, but if she got angry enough, she could probably do it. Then I crashed into Anne and we both dropped our books all over the lawn of Davis Hall. "Jesus, sorry." She knelt down to pick up her books, and all I could see were those green eyes. 

"It's okay," she replied. "I hate English, anyway." I laughed. 

"That's why I'm majoring in science. Clean cut, all exact and no interpretive essays," I said. She grinned and rolled her eyes. 

"Ugh, I've got one of those due tomorrow," she said, groaning. I smirked.

"So I guess a date isn't in the question?" She blinked for a moment. 

"Er, not tonight," she said, but then she smiled. "Maybe some other time." 

---  
I didn't see her again until about a week later. She was walking by, this time from history. "Hey, I haven't seen you in awhile," I called, catching her off-guard. She stood there for a moment, confused, and then she recognized me. 

"Hey," she said, smiling a little. I jogged over to her. She was trying to cross on the corner from the tennis courts to the old dorms by the donut shop. It's a terrible corner, 'cause there are about five different roads leading into one intersection. 

"How was the essay?" I asked. 

"Eh, okay," she replied. "Got another one due Thursday." I smiled.

"So, do you procrastinate?" She groaned and laughed.

"Yes, all the time," she said.

"Then you wouldn't happen to be tied up tonight?" I asked, grinning. Again she was taken a bit aback. 

"Well, I mean, no. But I don't even know you." I smacked myself lightly on the forehead.

"Of course! How could I forget?" I extended my hand. "Tom Conlon. But call me Spot, because I hate the name Tom." She stared at me for a moment, a shadow of a grin on her face.

"Anne. Anne McGeary." I raised an eyebrow. 

"But I should call you..." Everyone's got a nickname. It's how you learn more about a person, anyway. She smiled shyly and shook her head.

"You'll just have to wait and find out."

---  
I didn't chase her. I don't chase girls. But I have to admit, there's something about her that makes me want to chase her. It's just not my style, though. They should come to me. And they always do. 

But I mean, things were getting sort of serious. Not much, but we did go out for six months. Five and a half. And now she's gone. And it's not like I could go back to her, because she's dead. She's gone for good. I just can't believe it. Everyone thinks I'm guilty, too. Well, everyone but Slash. He came to visit me yesterday.

---  
"Hey, man," Slash greeted, grinning. "Dude, you look so terrible in orange." I laughed.

"Hey, Slash," I replied. "Since when did you critique my style? Who's the one who's got all the chicks all over me?" He laughed, his hair falling in his face.

"Well, it's me now, Spot. If you haven't noticed, you're a little... tied up." He motioned towards my cuffs. They don't trust me in here. It sucks. I stopped smiling. I know he meant it as a joke, but it wasn't that funny to me.

"They think I killed her, man," I mumbled. "I didn't do it, I swear. And if you think I did, you can just get out. I got enough people tellin' me I'm not worth anything." 

"Don't worry about it." He looked me full in the eyes, so I'd know he wasn't lying. "I know you didn't kill her, Spot. I believe you." I nodded. Slash knew me better than for a killer. 

"But everyone else thinks I did." He averted his eyes and leaned back in the wooden chair. 

"It's all over the news, man. It's like you're famous. People don't know what to think." I stared at him.

"They should think that I'm innocent. Because I am." He watched me carefully.

"Dude, what were you two arguing about that night?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Makes me look good, doesn't it? They hear we were arguing, they think I get angry and kill her." He looked nervous. 

"Well, you do get angry." My eyes flashed, and his grew large. He threw up his hands, a white flag. "You know I still think you're innocent. I'm saying that you get so angry that they'll think you killed her out of rage." I looked him square in the eye.

"I don't want to talk about it." Slash shook his head.

"I don't know, Spot."

---  
I swear, those people are gonna be sorry when I'm acquitted. I have to be. I didn't do anything. I swear on Eire. And that's a heck of a lot to swear on.

---  
Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun and Headache for reviewing! :-)


	11. Kid Blink

**Chapter Eleven- Kid Blink**

Dang. That murder case is getting pretty big. I can't believe it. Not national, but for this town, getting on the regional news is a big thing. I've been pacing around this stupid cell, just trying to remember. My cellmate is lookin' at me like I'm totally nuts. The thing is, I think I am. What the heck happened that night?

Okay, I keep going over this. Over and over, for about two days straight. What do I remember? I remember... being totally plastered. It was so much fun. Some kid I didn't know and I were having a contest about who could drink more shots of straight tequila in one minute. We had about three of those contests, and I won every time. Then something happened and there was a lot of shouting. I think...

---  
The house was pounding loud with music, but you can't really hear it when you're drunk, so it didn't matter. There were tons of kids there. It was bursting with kids and pot or whatever they all smoke. I'm fairly clean; I just smoke and drink. Not bad for a kid who's in college. 

After the contests were over, I had a Southern Comfort or something, just to kick back. I left the room to go to the bathroom, and I saw some girl passed out in the back room. Rookie. She must've been in high school, now that I think about it. She had like twenty of her little friends around her.

Normally if you pass out, nobody cares. If you're stupid enough to not know how to pace yourself, you don't get any sympathy.

Not that anyone's sober enough to actually notice you, anyway.

It was crazy in there, so I stepped outside. Needed some air, you know? I was suffocating. It was pretty cold out; I remember that. I could see my breath, and it was so amusing. Okay, maybe I did take a hit or two that night. I can't recall, but I had to have. Being enthralled by seeing your breath isn't even for three-year-olds. Yeah, I think there was some acid or something going on there.

But I digress.

So I was outside, and it was cold. Good job. That's all I can remember. Well, no, 'cause I saw that girl there. I saw her inside with some guy... and then some other guy. And then the first guy again. Okay, I'm getting confused. The first guy seemed like her boyfriend. He was a scrawny little punk, but he had these creepy eyes... I think that's the guy who's in here. I can't remember what the other guy looks like. But I remember he was different from the first one.

They came outside, and they were arguing about something. He was really mad. Furious. And she was yelling at him, too. 

And then she was lying on the ground.

---  
It was hazy between the yelling and her on the ground. Dang it, I can't remember what happened. Okay, so I went outside, and they were arguing. What happened next?

---  
Some other kids were there, too. They were trying to intervene between the two, because apparently that short little kid had some sort of major temper. What's his name? Tom? Okay, Tom was livid, and some other guy gets in between him and that girl. And then another one. And then... Tom starts shoving around, that sort of way where if things don't go the way he wants, he uses his fists. I used to be just like that. The other guys are trashed, so they think it's a big thing. Well, I don't remember that, but it seems appropriate. Typical college guys. 

Hey, I'm one of them.

One of the guys pulls a knife. I can't remember who it was. Slightly long, black handle. Well-polished. It blinded me for a minute, the moonlight and one of those motion lights both reflecting at the same time, right at my face. Who was holding the knife? Who's knife was it?

Why can't I remember this? It's so annoying.

I don't know who's it was. But I remember... I remember! It wasn't that kid's. Tom's. It wasn't Tom's knife.

But who's was it?

---  
Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun for reviewing!  
And I know it was a really short chapter. I'm sorry.


	12. Snipeshooter

**Chapter Twelve- Snipeshooter**

He's already been here once. He wants me to be a witness, he said. Get his client off the hook. What I want to know is how he found out I was at the party in the first place. He says I just have to go up and tell them what I saw. But I don't know. What if it's not enough and I get myself into trouble anyway?

---  
So I was at the party. Who could pass up such a sweet connection? Anything I wanted, cheap price, and not that stupid homegrown stuff. I mean, that stuff is so weak, it can barely get you anywhere. Man, it was getting so hot in there. Plus, Graft was getting a little freaked and made me go outside with him.

"Dude, I can't take this," he yelled over the music and the kids. "I have to go outside." I shrugged.

"Okay, go," I replied. He watched me with slow eyes. I never noticed that color before. Stone gray, with flecks of blue.

Anyway.

"No, you have to come with me," he pleaded. "Come on, man, come on, let's go." I let him lead me out of the house, his steps touched with that common drunkenness. He was being so loud, mumbling something about calling his mom. I laughed and shook my head. But then I saw him. Spot. And... what's her name? Anne? He called her Eire.

"Spot, babe, quit being a dumbass," Eire said calmly, a look of worry crossing her face. He stumbled a little in the floodlight. Graft made a noise, a mix between a grunt and a hiccup, and I hushed him quickly and ducked behind a car. If Spot saw me when he was drunk, he could have killed me. The dude's got a reputation.

"Don't call me a dumbass, Eire," he returned sharply. "I'm not an idiot." She rolled her eyes. 

"Fine, Spot. Fine. Just give me the freakin' keys." His face reddened and he glared at her angrily, holding up a key chain with a bunch of keys on it.

"I'm fine! Just shut up, Eire. Let's go... let's go home." She grabbed the keys from him quickly. He grew enraged, somehow violated through that alcoholic stupor. "Eire! Give me the damn keys now!" Others soon came from the house, dragged by the tone and volume of his voice.

"What's going on?" Sneaks asked. I think her real name was Belle or something. She just told everyone to call her "Sneaks". No, Isobelle. That's it. Eire turned to Sneaks.

"He wants to drive home," she said, a little angry as well. "And as you can see, he's way too intoxicated for that. He could get us killed." Spot shook his head.

"No, I'm not. Give me the keys, Anne!" Sneaks raised an eyebrow.

"Using her real name?" She questioned, a bit coy. "Ooh, it's gettin' dangerous." He turned to her and glared, those ice blue eyes cutting through her.

"Don't mess with me, Sneaks," he retorted, almost jumping at her. Then Snitch got between them. I'd never seen him at one of these parties, so it was weird. I didn't even know the two of them were friends. Maybe they weren't. "Get outta the way, you idiot!" Eire crossed slowly over to him.

"Spot, you're not driving tonight," she said simply. He made a noise close to a growl and lunged for her. This time both Snitch and another guy attempted to restrain Spot. But Spot started throwing punches like nobody's business. "Guys, let go of him," Eire yelled, trying to get in the middle. "It's easier if I just deal with him, okay?"

The scuffle continued.

Spot already had Snitch gone, and was soaking the other guy like nuts, and Eire was by his side, trying to help that other dude get away. Then that Snitch guy got up and squinted at the three of them for a second. I saw that he reached into his pocket slowly and pulled out a knife. The glare of the light on it blinded me for a second. Then he made a quick, smooth stab into the three of them.

Spot saw what was going on and tried to grab the knife. But he couldn't do anything. Eire was on the ground, her breath slowing.

By that time, I was really freaking out.

"Oh God, oh God," I whispered. I looked over to see Graft, but he disappeared. I had to go find him. I mean, who knows what he would get into? While I was searching, someone called the cops, and man, they were there in an instant. Usually those guys give you some time. I guess it was because it was a murder or something. Or maybe it just seemed too fast.

Last I saw Spot, he was leaning over Eire's body, trying to revive her. I never saw Snitch again.

---  
But man, why should I put my neck on the line for someone who has a perfect case for murder anyway? So I can feel good about myself and still be in jail? So his lawyer can collect whatever money he wants? Dude, I don't think so.

The lawyer's coming back tomorrow. Says maybe he can cut me a deal.

We'll see. We'll see.

---  
Thanks to Evenstar and Nakaia Aidan-Sun for reviewing! :-)


	13. Preparation

**Chapter Thirteen- Preparation**

Bryan Denton decided he'd try again. No deal would fall through for Nathan Ward, but it was worth a try. _Maybe his guilt will set in if I lay it on thick_, he thought. The doors swooshed open, and Snipeshooter trudged out to meet him at a table.

"Hello, Nathan," he greeted, keeping a serious tone on his face. Snipeshooter merely nodded to him and sat in his metal folding chair, bunching himself up uncomfortably as if he were trying to make himself smaller. "Have you thought about my proposition?" Snipeshooter drummed his fingers on the cold table, perhaps trying to bring some sort of warmth there. It always seemed so unwelcome in that room.

"You have a deal for me?" He asked, staring up at Denton and scratching at a freckle on his arm. Denton knew that it would come to this sometime; he was just hoping it wouldn't be so soon. He cleared his throat and leaned forward in the chair.

"Well, actually," he started. Snipeshooter knew it was a bad sign. "I couldn't do a thing. Your record precedes you." The young man stared at the lawyer for a moment. "But I could still really use your help. You see, I think Mr. Conlon really is innocent. Your testimony could change everything."

"Man, you just don't get it. Yeah, I might help the kid out. 'Cause sometimes I can be a real nice guy. But it would just help you get more dough when you don't need it. Plus..." He trailed off. Denton raised an eyebrow.

"I can understand that. But what other reasons are there?"

"Nothing," he mumbled softly.

"You can tell me, son. I want to help you, too, and if it's bad enough, I'll stop pressing you so hard." Snipeshooter raised a wary eyebrow but shrugged.

"Okay, man. Three reasons why I'm not helping. One, I'm not gonna help some old-head get even more rich. I mean, what have you ever done for me?" Denton nodded. "Two, nobody's gonna believe me. You're lookin' at a multiple offender. The town hates drugs like nothin' else. I mean, I go up to the stand and the judge thinks I'm not credible. Especially since I was stoned at the time. You think we can't remember stuff that happens when we're high. But we do. All the time." The lawyer looked at the young man as if a sudden understanding came over him. Snipeshooter leaned back in his chair. "That's it." Denton smiled slightly.

"But that was only two reasons. You said there were three." Snipeshooter leaned forward again and stared at Denton, as if trying to decide if he were worth it. He leaned his head to the side. Denton sweated under that lamp. He wanted to know the third reason. Because the first two weren't really that stable.

"You wanna know the third reason? Alright, I'll tell you, man." Snipeshooter lowered his voice to just above a whisper, so that Denton would have to lean in to hear him. "Because if I go up there and testify against that guy, he'll kill me." The man raised an eyebrow.

"Nathan, he'll be in jail." The prisoner laughed and rolled his eyes.

"He's not gonna be convicted, anyway. Besides, that's not what I'm talking about. The dude's got connections all over. I'm not in here forever. I don't feel like getting gunned down while I'm going to buy my bean burrito at Taco Bell, okay? No matter where I go, his buddies will follow me. Rough me up a bit. Then if he's convicted, it's like I signed my own death wish."

---  
Spot was acting up again in solitary confinement. Denton may have told him to stop, but it wasn't that easy. He wasn't getting a fair shake. And with that temper, he erupted at every possible moment. The hollering could be heard from all of the cells. Jack Kelly, or Francis Sullivan, paced around his cell, going crazy from the noise. Anthony Higgins, known to many as "Racetrack", fumbled his hands around, longing for a deck of cards. The cigar he was hiding would soothe his nerves momentarily, but it was no fun to have to smoke whole bunched up in a corner.

"I feel bad for that guy," Swifty commented after a few minutes. His cellmate, Snitch, raised an eyebrow.

"Why the hell would you feel bad for a murderer?" Swifty shrugged.

"He lost his girlfriend. I know if Taffee died, I'd want to die, too. And then he's stuck in prison for murder." Snitch waved him off. He was a young kid. He didn't know anything. "Whether he did it or not," Swifty added.

Snitch looked down at his hands and said nothing.

---  
_God, Eire. I miss you like crazy_, Spot thought, leaning up against the wall, breathing hard from throwing a chair into the door. _Why can't you be here with me? What did I do to be stuck in this damn jail cell?_ He could have sworn he heard a bird singing softly in the distance, as if it were she with him, reassuring him that it would be okay.

---  
Patrick Snyder and Edward Monahan met often before the case. They plotted their attack slowly in a lone coffee shop with Bryan Denton did the same, alone, in a restaurant right across the street.

---  
Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun for reviewing! :-)


	14. Snitch

**Chapter Fourteen- Snitch**

This is crazy. I didn't know there was a freakin' witness. But when I saw that punk going out to meet with Spot's lawyer, I knew he knew something. Something that wouldn't be good for me. It's terrible, is what it is. And then my stupid cellmate makes me feel all guilty, the idiot. Yeah, I have feelings, and it sucks. It's like he _knows_. He knows I did it.

Okay. I killed Anne McGeary. I murdered her; I stabbed her with a knife.

I did it.

But honestly, I didn't mean to. It wasn't supposed to work out like that. She wasn't supposed to die.

---  
Bullet. A malicious guy who'll do anything for run of the town.

Spot Conlon. A malicious guy who'll do anything for run of the town, and currently does have that honor.

Bullet has a good take when it comes to cash. Makes a whole bunch of money through stocks, his family's rich, and man, does he have it all. The kid's pretty freakin' spoiled, and because Spot's got control over the town, Bullet wants it, too. Spot recently took over a huge area on the rich side of town, right by Bullet's area.

Bullet got a little angry about this, so he want to off Spot. Unfortunately, all of his minions are rich little mama's boys who don't want to get their hands dirty. So he summons me. I met him through crook upon crook. I don't deal with that territory crap, so I was fair game. If he had the money.

"Well, well," Bullet said slowly, his place, slack face solemn. "I suppose you want to sit down?" He motioned for a chair to be brought forth. It was a tiny warehouse, but the guy fixed it up well. I stared at him.

"What I want is to know what the hell you want," I replied, stony. He smiled and motioned for me to sit. I obliged grudgingly. I don't normally take orders, and this guy was wasting my time.

"I have an extra ten thousand laying around," he commented, as if it were nothing. That's a nice roll. I needed it, too, 'cause this guy Tiny wanted his gambling money. I didn't think I was going to lose. And that idiot with the gambling ring never paid me off. "I was wondering if you would be interested in taking it off of my hands." I looked at him.

"What's the price?" He grinned.

"Spot Conlon's head." His fist hit the wooden table beside him. "Just off him, any way, any time." I nodded slowly. I could handle that. I raised an eyebrow.

"Where's the money? How do I know you have it?" He chuckled.

"Trust me," he replied. "I have it." I stared at him for a moment.

"And if I get caught?" He smiled again, daring me to get caught.

"I have complete faith that you won't." I nodded again and stood to shake his hand.

"Done."

---  
Word was going around that this fraternity was having a party. And the king himself would be there. Mr. Spot Conlon. So of course I had to go. Parties are messy, with drunks laying around, unfocused, unable to remember what happened the next morning. It was perfect. I watched him carefully, not drinking much but acting like I was. He stepped outside with that girlfriend of him, and I noticed they'd been arguing a little all night. Guess she wasn't one for alcohol or something. So I stepped by the doorway to watch them. It was a full-blown argument.

Some other kids heard their yelling and were curious. I jogged outside with the rest of them, pretending to be curious, as well. That knife was so secure against my hip. It would work out.

I pretended to be concerned for Spot. I pretended to want to restrain him, to stop the fighting. Then my chance came when he and this other kid got into it. I pulled it out smoothly, but I couldn't figure out which one was Spot. They were moving so freakin' fast.

So I located the one I thought it was, and just stabbed quickly. Turns out it was the girl.

So Spot wasn't dead. I ran out quickly, winding my car down side streets and alleys, leaving just before the cops arrived.

---  
But Bullet never came through. Said I killed the wrong person, and that wasn't good enough. I still had to pay Tiny. So I rob a Wal-Mart. Too sloppy there, end up in jail.

What if everyone finds out the truth and I end up on death row?

---  
Yeah. If you reviewed, thanks. I'm too lazy to go check. :-)


	15. Consequences

**Chapter Fifteen- Consequences**

Racetrack Higgins was convicted of illegal gambling. Rain still has not come to visit him at Greenwall Prison.

Snipeshooter has gone into a drug rehabilitation unit at Greenwall Prison. He will be released in six months.

Swifty finally told the authorities about City, with the encouragement of Taffee. He now feels safe to live at home. He and Taffee are still together, and her mom doesn't mind him so much anymore.

Kid Blink has stopped hanging around with his fraternity brothers. He decided to focus on real life. His grades have improved tremendously, and he did attend a memorial service for Eire.

Jack Kelly has made amends with David, Firefly, and Riley. They come to visit him in jail. His trial is set for next March.

Snitch has been fully convicted of manslaughter. He awaits death by lethal injection. Bullet never got any more of Spot's territory, although the struggle still continues.

Spot Conlon was tried and acquitted because of a testimony by Snipeshooter. Eire's family forgave him, and he forgave them for believing he was the murderer. He missed the funeral, but attended a memorial service held for her about a week after he got out of prison. Slash attended with him.

---  
Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, and everyone who let me use their characters. It means a lot.   
//Runaway


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